We stand at the door to the stairs in the freezing cold parking garage. I am swollen up with our first born who is now an overdue little bundle, and my arms ache for him.
“Too late to change it now.”
We look at each other and silently start down the stairs - the adventure awaits.
Two days later
I set him down on the coffee table, still in the car seat. I am hungry. I get some soup and some cheese, sit down to eat.
“What do I do with him now??”, I ask myself. I look around the room, and suddenly everything looks too dirty, too dangerous. The hospital seemed clean, safe, and there were many there who knew what to do.
He is so tiny. I’ve never done this and now his life is in my hands.
Ten years later
He is nearly at my shoulder. He loves history and science. He spells as well as I do and is an avid reader. He jokes and laughs, and is emotional. He is madly in love with his little sister - as it should be. He plays well with his two brothers, with a couple of punches and yells thrown in for good measure. Friends and family are important to him and God is close. He is tender, he is rough. He is little boy with man bursting through. I forget his age and treat him like is older than he is and then I see his face - that sweet expression I loved so much as a toddler. I want to cuddle him again.
I am his mom for ten years now, he is my teacher for ten years now. The one person that has changed me immediately. I don’t pick him up anymore. He hugs me close when he knows I am hurting. It all seems like yesterday, but I know it is painfully lost to the past. He has made me swell with pride and want to bang my head against something hard with frustration.
Mom for a decade. Is it possible? Most days I still struggle to be the grown up.
Happy birthday, my sweet first born. Mommy loves you so much.
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